Give Me a Reason
by littlestrangesoul
Summary: He can't think of a reason for her to be here. In his room. In his bed.


Just something short and sweet I couldn't get out of my head. I tried to write it as generally as possible, not really sure who these characters were meant to be when I started. But I just can't help myself with these two.

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 **Give Me A Reason**

They didn't often hang out for just any reason. Normally there was a danger and he was called upon to comfort or defend as much as his human hands were capable. Though, to be honest, it was usually her intelligence that protected them both.

But tonight, he couldn't think of a reason for them to be here. In his bed. Well, she's _in_ his bed, having cocooned herself with the comforter and flopping backwards with a laugh just seconds earlier. He's sitting gingerly on the edge, afraid to get too close to her. She kicks him a little bit, urging him to lay back with her, eyes big and mocking at his apparent discomfort. _Just friends_ , he reminds himself, lowering himself against his better judgment.

Lying down, he feels man enough to acknowledge that he is a lightweight and three glasses of wine is just about enough to make the room tilt in a way that isn't entirely unpleasant. He can tell she's feeling it too, laying a few inches away, slowly raising her palms to the ceiling, as though marveling at her own lack of depth perception. Her focus allows him to look at her, scanning the angles of her face. She really is beautiful, he thinks. With her face tilted towards the light, he can see the spatter of freckles across her nose. He feels lucky to get to see her like this, unguarded and loosened by alcohol and years of friendship. Or he feels lucky, until her face tilts towards him, green eyes glinting with humor at having caught him staring. Her hands slowly float downward as they look at each other, one landing just close enough to his to short circuit his brain.

"Comfy bed," she remarks lightly, holding eye contact even as he blushes.

"I – yeah, I enjoy it, you know?"

It's a true testament to the moment that she doesn't even grin at this stutter, instead nodding as though she _does_ know. Her nod causes her long red hair to tickle his face, and he shifts in discomfort at the sensation.

"Sorry, sorry!" She laughs, shifting to accommodate him, her, and her mass of curls in this bed that's suddenly feeling much smaller. She turns towards him, knees bumping into his legs and hands stuffing her hair behind her so it doesn't impede the space between their faces. He turns too, causing their legs to tangle in a way he swears to himself wasn't intentional. She's talking now, her voice floating to him softly as though underwater, her hands making sweeping gestures that cause her fingers to get caught in the wrinkles of his shirt if she's not too careful. She seems annoyed by this, reaching out to flatten the fabric with her fingertips. When her hands don't move from his chest and her voice dies out, he looks into her face.

Her eyes are closed, lips parted in a soft smile – so differently from the cold smirk he used to see daily. He thinks that maybe, just as friends, they could sleep like this. It's not technically inappropriate; there are hands and limbs in between them acting as the bars on their separate prison cells. As though she's determined to prove him wrong, she wriggles closer, fingernails digging into him slightly, and he doesn't think he's imagining that her smile has grown wider.

He thinks far too much about the consequences. As a rule, he is generally not a risk taker. But she's smiling and touching him and peeking from underneath her eyelashes at his face and he can see the hammering of her pulse under the pale skin of her neck.

Oh, fuck it.

...

When their lips touch, he swears her smile has grown to Cheshire cat proportions and he finds himself laughing into her mouth, he himself grinning like a madman. He feels giddy, out of control, his fingers pressing into her neck and pulling her closer. She obliges, crawling on top of him eagerly, hands running down his chest and hips heavy on his. He doesn't realize for quite a while that neither of them are smiling anymore, mouths much too busy and moving with a sincerity he didn't know was possible between two broken humans.

She breaks away from him and he's terrified that it's over, that he's done something wrong. He holds his eyes shut, waiting for her to slide off of him, put back on her shoes, and pretend this never happened. Instead her weight shifts, arms winding around his neck, loose curls brushing underneath his chin. He hugs her back, pressing his nose into her hair, feeling something akin to wonder filling his chest.

And as she presses a soft kiss to his neck and he feels the smile spread across her face, he realizes maybe they _did_ have a reason for hanging out tonight.


End file.
